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It is amazing how many outlandish suggestions have been made for suspects as 'Jack the Ripper'. However, one name that does not appear is that of the Irish Home Rule MP Charles Stewart Parnell (1846-1891). He was, of course, a high profile figure in the press of 1888 as the Parnell Commission enquiry into The Times letters that alleged he had sympathies with the Phoenix Park murderers began at the time of the Ripper murders.
The letters were a forgery and Parnell was vindicated but it was a saga that pre-occupied Dr. Robert Anderson in the years 1887-1889. The renewed publicity on Parnell, the forgery scandal and the claims of Anderson to have authored three 'Parnellism and Crime' articles, in The Times in 1887, broke in 1910 and the joking, albeit, public suggestion that Parnell might be 'Jack the Ripper' was made in a book in 1911 by no less a person than Mrs. T. P. O'Connor, wife of the editor of the Star, and Irish Nationalist MP, Thomas Power O'Connor.
The reference was recently found by Nick Connell in the 1911 book I Myself, by Mrs. T. P. O'Connor, page 214. The piece runs thus -
Mr. O'Connor was alone on her floor, the servants being above... '...when, about half-past two or three o'clock in the morning, I felt the quiver and grind of machinery. I looked at my clock, and was petrified with terror. It was an evening paper - the machines never began before the morning - what could have happened? Had the Queen died? I jumped out of bed, threw on my dressing-gown, and ran barefooted into the hall.
The night-watchman met me, his lantern swinging in his hand, followed by Max.
"What, oh, what has happened?" I gasped out.
"Jack the Ripper," he said, "has murdered two women to-night - not so far away from here either - and we are getting to press as early as anybody."
"Two!" I said. "Horrible! How did he manage that?"
He told me as much as he knew, and I took Max in my room to guard me, and waited for the daylight.
What an impenetrable mystery Jack the Ripper was! The wretch evidently had a sardonic sense of humour, for he used to write to the papers to say a murder would be committed the next night, and sign his letters "The Ripper" -and sure enough the murder, in spite of all vigilance, would take place neatly and deftly; and, notwithstanding his grimy humorous letter of warning, no trace would be found. All sorts of theories were advanced, but there was absolutely nothing in any of them.
One night Mr Parnell came to see Mr Labouchere [the radical MP and journalist]. He was wearing a long rough overcoat with the collar well above his ears, a slouch hat well down over his eyes, and he carried a black bag just the size for instruments. Mr Labouchere accompanied him to the door and said, "Shall I call a cab for you?"
"No," Mr Parnell said, "I will walk."
"Where," said Mr Labouchere, "do you live?"
"Over there," said Mr Parnell, sweeping his arm toward the darkness of the night into which he disappeared.
Mr Labouchere returned to his library and a group of friends, and laughing, said, "I do believe that I've just parted with 'Jack the Ripper' - anyhow Parnell is the only man who answers to the description."
The letters were a forgery and Parnell was vindicated but it was a saga that pre-occupied Dr. Robert Anderson in the years 1887-1889. The renewed publicity on Parnell, the forgery scandal and the claims of Anderson to have authored three 'Parnellism and Crime' articles, in The Times in 1887, broke in 1910 and the joking, albeit, public suggestion that Parnell might be 'Jack the Ripper' was made in a book in 1911 by no less a person than Mrs. T. P. O'Connor, wife of the editor of the Star, and Irish Nationalist MP, Thomas Power O'Connor.
The reference was recently found by Nick Connell in the 1911 book I Myself, by Mrs. T. P. O'Connor, page 214. The piece runs thus -
Mr. O'Connor was alone on her floor, the servants being above... '...when, about half-past two or three o'clock in the morning, I felt the quiver and grind of machinery. I looked at my clock, and was petrified with terror. It was an evening paper - the machines never began before the morning - what could have happened? Had the Queen died? I jumped out of bed, threw on my dressing-gown, and ran barefooted into the hall.
The night-watchman met me, his lantern swinging in his hand, followed by Max.
"What, oh, what has happened?" I gasped out.
"Jack the Ripper," he said, "has murdered two women to-night - not so far away from here either - and we are getting to press as early as anybody."
"Two!" I said. "Horrible! How did he manage that?"
He told me as much as he knew, and I took Max in my room to guard me, and waited for the daylight.
What an impenetrable mystery Jack the Ripper was! The wretch evidently had a sardonic sense of humour, for he used to write to the papers to say a murder would be committed the next night, and sign his letters "The Ripper" -and sure enough the murder, in spite of all vigilance, would take place neatly and deftly; and, notwithstanding his grimy humorous letter of warning, no trace would be found. All sorts of theories were advanced, but there was absolutely nothing in any of them.
One night Mr Parnell came to see Mr Labouchere [the radical MP and journalist]. He was wearing a long rough overcoat with the collar well above his ears, a slouch hat well down over his eyes, and he carried a black bag just the size for instruments. Mr Labouchere accompanied him to the door and said, "Shall I call a cab for you?"
"No," Mr Parnell said, "I will walk."
"Where," said Mr Labouchere, "do you live?"
"Over there," said Mr Parnell, sweeping his arm toward the darkness of the night into which he disappeared.
Mr Labouchere returned to his library and a group of friends, and laughing, said, "I do believe that I've just parted with 'Jack the Ripper' - anyhow Parnell is the only man who answers to the description."
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